The Privilege Is Mine
by dear-lovely
Summary: Draco doesn't know how to deal with his demons. With the support from his late mother and an unexpected visitor, he tries to do better.


This story was written for the Semi-Finals (!!) of the Seventh Season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm writing as Beater 1 for the Tutshill Tornados.

Name of the round: **It's a Classic**

Prompt for Beater 1: _Fahrenheit 451_– **A character overcomes their own ignorance.**

These are the optional prompts I'm using:

1\. (quote) **"It's never an insult to be called what somebody thinks is a bad name. It just shows how poor that person is. It doesn't hurt you." **_\- To Kill a Mockingbird_

9\. (object) **potion vial**

15\. (plot point)** a funeral**

Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize. J.K. Rowling owns everything from the Harry Potter universe. The title is a reference to There Is A Light That Never Goes Out by The Smiths. It's a 10/10 song, go listen!

Thanks to my team for betaing and for a great season! It's almost over, so I just wanted to say how grateful I am for all of you~

* * *

Title: **The Privilege Is Mine**

Word Count: 2899

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Draco can't get his tie to knot correctly. After decades of experience, he can't do it this one time. Annoyed, he plops down on the side of his bed and reaches for a familiar vial on top of his nightstand. He forces the opening to his lips and the potion inside follows, burning his throat all the way down. A coughing fit immediately trails behind; no matter how many times he drinks, he just can't get used to it.

Rubbing his eyes, strained with fatigue and sadness, he gets up to face the mirror and tries again. With the fabric clasped in his shaky hands, he attempts to maneuver the ends through the ins and outs of itself until it reaches the point where the knot is passable, albeit not up to usual Malfoy standards.

He scoffs at that thought. The Malfoy brand once belonged to a respectable heritage, one of high-esteem and honor. But now, the Malfoy name is burned onto him for the rest of his forsaken life. There is no one, besides his parents' ghosts, that can share the blame with him. He alone will be suffering the consequences of his ancestors' decisions. Whenever Draco hears anyone spout ill-intentions towards him or anyone of his surname, his hand automatically reaches for his trusty vial.

Last night, he stayed up later than he usually did because he needed to brew a new batch of the potion he has come to rely on. He wouldn't have done so otherwise, but he's burying his mother today, so it was more than necessary. Last Saturday, Draco was hunched over her hospice bed in one of the guest rooms at the Manor, holding tightly to her frail hand as she breathed her last breath. No one was present in the room except for Draco, his dead mother's body, and their cumulative demons.

Luckily, Narcissa was the kind who planned their own funeral in advance, so all Draco had to do was to follow her instructions and hope that someone, anyone, would attend. As he visits the Manor's garden, he notices that the funeral is extravagantly decorated, akin to Narcissa's style in life. Draco expects nothing less from his mother. White lilies grow everywhere—around the arched entrance, on the sides of the white chairs placed on the outside of the row, in between the legs of the stand holding up her portrait from ten years ago, and surrounding the perimeter where the funeral is to be held. In a few hours, her body will be delivered inside the casket she designed herself, then people will (hopefully) arrive, and Draco will have to give a eulogy to strangers.

When he was initially faced with the guest list, Draco thought that there had to be a mistake. His mother didn't know this many people, because if she did, why had no one had visited her during the last six months? Even as an elite socialite, she most definitely lost acquaintances due to the war, so it was absurd for Draco to invite everyone on her list. He begrudgingly followed her last request.

Turning away from the scene, Draco made his way back inside the Manor to quickly write the eulogy he'd been putting off and anxiously wait for the funeral to begin.

* * *

Several hours later, Draco found himself sitting alone in the front row of the garden set up. He is surrounded by different types of people and beings he's never met before, nevermind knew that his mother knew. He can't pay close attention because of the constant hum of whimpering from several people spread throughout the crowd. Whenever one stops crying, another starts sniffling. Even though his mind is numb with grief, he couldn't help but be thoroughly impressed and surprised at the extent of his mother's impact.

"And now a word from Narcissa's son, Draco," the Ministry official announces after his speech, one that Draco hadn't paid much attention to.

He makes his way to the podium, shakes the official's hand, and clears his throat. "Thank you all for coming. I thought it was just going to be Mr. Knotts and me here, so I truly appreciate everyone for taking the time out of their day for my mother. She was the most amazing woman, and I am very lucky that she was my mother. No one is perfect, including her, but she did the best she could in any given situation. Her sole priority throughout the entirety of her whole life was family: first her sisters, then my father, and then me. She was against anything that tore her family apart, even if it lived under her roof. Without her small rebellions against the Dark Lord, the outcome of the war would've been different, to which I am grateful for her times of disobedience. She lived a quiet life after the war, using the funds from my late father's account to pay for her semiannual renovation project at the Manor and Xhylla's mini-mansion just over there." He points in its direction, but no one bothers to look.

Instead, the crowd faintly snickers as if they are also a part of the joke. Draco can't understand how; only himself, his mother, and Xhylla had been on Manor grounds in the past decade.

Shaking his head, he continues. "When we learned she was terminally ill six months ago, I noticed a drastic change in her. Before, she was lively and animated, the true life of the party whenever she walked into a room. However, as the days and weeks passed on, she became quieter and more reserved. The healer said that the change wasn't because of her condition, but because of its psychological effects. I'm grateful for all the time we spent together these last several months, but I believe that she lost a part of herself in that time as well."

A loud cry comes from the middle of the crowd, from a child with furry skin. Her mother tries to shush her, to no avail.

All of a sudden, something gets stuck inside his throat. "I— I'm sorry, I can't… Please, continue without me."

He stumbles out of there as quickly as he can and instinctively gulps another portion of the potion. Whilst violently coughing, he stuffs the vial back in his pocket and makes his way to the back corner of one of the garden's greenhouses before he slumps to the ground, inserts his head between his knees, and hugs his legs to his chest. He repeats the mantra his mother would say to him whenever he was in the middle of a panic attack.

_Inhale, exhale._

_Inhale, exhale._

_Inhale, exhale…_

_Why wasn't it working? _He feels his chest tighten once more. _What if it never stops? What if I can't breathe normally ever again? What if I'm stuck here forever?_ Draco doesn't know how long he's in this state before a voice calls out his name.

"Malfoy? Oh…" Her heels click towards him. He hears her settle down next to him, close enough for comfort but far enough away that it isn't suffocating. "Hey, it's going to be okay. Breathe in, two, three. Breathe out, two, three. Again, two, three. Out, two, three."

As the woman's soothing voice repeats the chant, Draco feels himself slowly becoming at ease. He thinks about the vial in his suit pocket and reaches out to grab it again when the woman's voice interrupts him.

"Are you doing better, Malfoy?"

He finally looks to see her face, one he immediately recognizes. "Granger? Why are you here?"

Her concerned face hardens, visibly switching from being a mother to a professional. "I need to speak with you."

"At my mother's funeral, no less?"

"Precisely. Narcissa wanted this to be done right after her burial."

Draco chuckles in disbelief. "That's her, always planning everything to the last minute."

Hermione hesitates, unsure what to say next. "Yes, well, are you okay standing up now?"

"Dunno… don't feel like it though." He grabs the potion vial and takes a swig, erupting into a coughing fit once more.

She immediately rubs his back in circles until the coughing stops. Pulling a bottle out of her purse, she offers, "Water?"

He waves his hand. "Thanks, but not necessary. Happens all the time. Plus, it won't work if I drink water right after."

"What is it, anyway? Nothing should make you cough like that." Spotting the forgotten vial in between them, Hermione picks it up and takes a whiff. "Whoa, that's strong alright!"

Draco snatches it out of her hands and puts it back inside his pocket. "It's prescribed if you're wondering. Helps with the nightmares and all that."

"So you're taking a potion for sleep in the middle of the day?"

He shakes his head. "Most nightmares happen when I'm awake. I see things that aren't there, usually remnants of my past. The healer said to take it whenever I feel the nightmares creeping up to me."

Hermione nods. "I understand, my therapist gave me antidepressants for dealing with my trauma. I'm easing off of them slowly, but it helps. I just hope that you're not becoming dependent on it."

He stays silent, turning away from her slightly.

"Ah, I see. Then I think you need to hear why I'm here in the first place. Do you want the meeting here or someplace else?"

"Here, please," Draco quietly replies, turning back to face her.

She meets his eyes once more. "Okay then. Narcissa contacted me six months ago and asked if I could discuss her will with you once her funeral was over. Even then, she knew how you'd react, which is how I found you."

A soft smile lands on his lips, before returning to his stoic state once more.

"As I'm sure you're well aware, you've been the Head of the Malfoy Estate ever since your father died in Azkaban, but you also automatically assume the positions that Narcissa held. Your mother is a part of many organizational boards, and she wanted you to take over for her because she thought it was important for you to understand what she'd been doing ever since the war."

"What do you mean? She was on house arrest for the first two years, and she's barely been outside ever since."

"Need I remind you how massive the Manor is? People have come and gone from here all the time. While we were at Hogwarts completing our eighth year, your mother was creating many organizations to help the disenfranchised. Some include the Society of Equality and Equity for Muggleborns, the Alliance for Respectable Rights of Non-Humans, and the Coalition of Women Against the Pureblood Patriarchy. All the people who attended the funeral today have a better life because of Narcissa's efforts, and she wanted you to continue bettering the lives of those less privileged than yourself."

His mind races as he goes over everything she's just said. "My mother… did all of that? Then why did no one visit her in the last six months? And why wasn't I aware of all this?"

"She was humble in the sense that she didn't believe she did enough due to the guilt from the previous forty-five years of her life. When she learned that her health was rapidly declining, she knew that she didn't want to disrupt the momentum of the organizations she'd worked hard to help build. She told only her trusted advisors from each organization about her condition and that she wanted them to continue without worrying about her. We all worried about her, of course, but she made us promise not to visit her. I believe that she wanted to spend the rest of the time she had only with you."

"Were you one of her advisors? You keep on calling her Narcissa, so you must've been close."

Hermione smiles, bittersweetness reaching her eyes. "Yeah, we were close. She helped revive the organization I started in my fourth year called the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. She turned my fundamental idea into something more massive than I could've ever imagined. The board is comprised of 90% house-elves, with Narcissa and I as the only humans."

"So she's the reason why we only have one house-elf who we pay an affordable wage and built a house for?"

"Yes, and she was thrilled during construction."

He laughs. "I remember that, but I thought she was excited to decorate something other than the Manor."

"Oh, that too," she giggles.

"That's honestly great. I'm glad to see that more people knew how amazing she was."

"She's probably one of the best people I've ever had the chance to know. Even when she was turned down or pushed away because of her name, she never gave up trying to do what was right."

"Sounds like her. She'd always get what she wanted, no matter the circumstances."

Hermione contemplates for a moment, then asks, "You know why she did all of it? Even if she wasn't ever properly credited for all the work she's done? She did it all for you. The first organization she worked for was called Magical Victims of Substance Abuse. I asked her why, and she told me it was personal. Turns out that it was more personal than I anticipated."

"That's impossible. I was always sober in front of her. I made sure of it." Draco rebuts.

She shrugs. "Maybe you weren't as slick as you thought you were. Or maybe she learned through Xhylla accidentally. We'll never know, I guess."

They are quiet for a bit, both thinking about the same woman. He reminisces about the small sacrifices she'd make for his happiness, including the baskets of sweets his father disapproved of.

After a while, Draco shakes his head and pulls out the vial once more, fiddling with it in his left hand. "It turns out my mother dealt with her demons by helping others, while I deal with my demons by only helping myself." He shakes the vial as a demonstration, then places it on top of the crack between them.

"There should be a balance between the two, though," Hermione comments. "Yes, your mother spent the latter part of her life helping others, but it cost her her health in the end, didn't it? With all the added stress when she should've been taking it easy at her age. Whereas with you, it is incredibly selfish when you only think of yourself, even to the point where you weren't aware of this huge part of your mother's life. Yet at the same time, you were taking care of yourself. In your own, twisted way, of course, but not many people take the time to practice self-care, which is a critical part of living."

"No offense Granger, but why are you still here?" he asks her rather suddenly. "If it was only about my mother's will, then you would've left me alone in the first place. I terrorized you at a young age, so playing therapist with me is probably toppling over the scale."

"First of all, I cared about Narcissa a lot, and she'd want me to help you right now. And it's been years since you last taunted me or called me that derogatory name. We're both adults, Malfoy. Hell, I have children now! Besides, I forgave you a long time ago."

Draco tilts his neck in confusion. "What? How? I haven't even forgiven myself!"

She smiles sympathetically, seeing one of his demons in front of her. "There's a quote I read long ago from my father's favorite book. It was actually the reason why I chose to pursue law, despite my previous grievances with the Ministry. The quote is: 'It's never an insult to be called what somebody thinks is a bad name. It just shows how poor that person is. It doesn't hurt you.'" Hermione looks over to him. "It was the only line of the book that was highlighted. I realize that my father had done so for me, seeing that he saw me struggle with this drastic shift in my identity and the implications that came with it. But reading it just made me feel sorry for you, quite honestly. You might've been richer, but your strict upbringing made you emotionally stunted and poor in empathy. I don't blame you, seeing that you were just a child."

"You were one too!" he tries to rebuke. "I guess that doesn't really matter, seeing that you turned out much better than I did."

"There's still time to change that."

He smiles at her. "I appreciate the sentiment, Granger. Maybe my mother wanted me to become a humanitarian in hopes of becoming more like you."

"Bingo, Malfoy."

He nudges her lightly. "But really, thank you. Today's been rough, but talking it out made it better than what I thought it'd be."

She waves a hand. "No worries, Malfoy. We'll be working with each other soon enough, so we should be on friendly terms."

"Right! Well, please tell me more about it inside the Manor. My bum's starting to hurt."

Hermione chuckles. "I was hoping you'd mention it, mine's been aching for too long."

As they get up and leave the greenhouse, the vines start growing out of the cracks on the ground, latching onto the potion vial until in its place is a single white lily.


End file.
